"She had a psychotic break, I thought it was important for you to know", wrote the unknown sender of the email. I asked for more information, but he never replied back. "Who is he? Who are they? What if he's talking about her?", I asked myself.

She never used social networks, and since I had deleted her number from my phone and never wrote it down, I decided to take the bus and check up on her. I promised myself I wouldn't return, but here I am, on my way to her modest home.

I'm thinking about her paintings, both beautiful and disturbing. She painted a lot of them, all different, albeit following some sort of pattern.

Now I'm thinking about our last day together. God, I hope she is okay. This trip to her house will be the longest I've ever made. I hope it will be the last.